Sharon Kay Penman's Blog, page 59

The Tower of Pisa and a cute (really) baby sloth

When we think of “cute” animals, sloths do not usually come to mind. But here is a brief video of an undeniably cute baby sloth in the London zoo, who has a stuffed toy as his surrogate mom. http://www.nbcnews.com/video/baby-slo...
On the historical front, Rania and maybe Koby will post about the grand sweep of events on August 9th. Only one caught my attention, though. On this date in 1173, construction began on the Tower of Pisa. I’ve not seen it in person, though I’d like to, so there is yet another reason for going back to Italy.

New winners of Sunne book drawing and fun in Denver

I finally have a new blog up about the Historical Novel Society convention and the two new winners of the Sunne Book Giveaway, Anna Kallumpram and Chris Torrance. Here is the link.

http://sharonkaypenman.com/blog/?p=511

New winners of Sunne book drawing and fun in Denver

I have waited for over two months for the winner of my Sunne book giveaway, Laurie Spencer, to contact me, having no way to contact her myself.   But to no avail, so I finally decided it was only fair to do the drawing over again; that probably means that Laurie will surface as soon as the new blog is posted….sigh.   I can provide a signed paperback edition, though, as a consolation prize when she does.   Meanwhile, there are two new winners in the re-drawing for the commemorative hardcover edition of Sunne, for when I pulled out one number, another one had attached to it, like a limpet to a ship’s hull.  Since they emerged at the same time, it seemed only right to call them both winners.   So…..Anna Kallumpram and Chris Torrance, please contact me so I can arrange to personalize and mail your copies to you.  You can post a comment on this blog, use the Contact Sharon feature on my website, go to one of my Facebook pages, or e-mail me at sharonkaypenman@yahoo.com.

I have a very important battle scene looming in the next Outremer chapter and am really looking forward to it.  At the risk of sounding bloodthirsty, I enjoy fighting battles, find it very therapeutic—unless a favorite character has to die, of course.  Fortunately, that is not the case in this battle.    But because of this coming bloodshed, I will have to keep this blog shorter than usual.

I love Colorado in general and Denver in particular; in the good old days, they used to send me to the Tattered Cover on every book tour, but sadly, that has not been the case in recent years.   So I jumped at the opportunity to attend the Historical Novel Society convention in Denver last June, and I am so glad I did.  One of my favorite Kurt Vonnegut quotes is a commentary on the anti-social tendencies of authors; he claimed that most writers dragged themselves about in public like gut-shot grizzly bears.    Not always true, though, for I had a wonderful time attending panel discussions and catching up with friends like Priscilla Royal, Barbara Peters, Margaret George, Anne Easter Smith, Judith Starkey, Mary Tod, and David Blixt, among others; I also enjoyed meeting Charlene Newcomb, who has written a novel set during the Third Crusade,   Men of the Cross.   Because this was the largest of the HNS conventions to date, with over 450 writers and aspiring writers attending, it was inevitable that some of us would be like ships passing in the night; for example, Helen Hollick and I missed each other altogether and Christopher Gortner and I got to exchange hugs, but had no time to chat.    As an added bonus, I got to meet some of my Facebook friends at a book signing that was open to the public, and Karen King, a very gifted artist, gave me a beautiful portfolio of paintings she’d done of several of my characters: Llywelyn and Joanna, Richard III and Anne Neville, and Llywelyn ap Gruffydd.    My blog continues to make it very difficult to insert images into the narrative—one reason why we will soon be moving it—but I will do my best to include one of Karen’s paintings for you all to see.

For me, the highlights of the weekend were David Blixt’s swordplay sessions on Friday.  David and his actor friend, Brandon, put on a phenomenal show, first showing us how to kill with medieval swords and axes, and then how to kill with rapiers and other Renaissance weapons…..often while playing out scenes from Shakespeare!   David and Brandon are  experienced Shakespearean actors and would have been superb soldiers in the armies of the Lionheart, the Yorkist kings, or Cangrande della Scala, Lord of Verona in David’s magnificent Star-Cross’d series set in 14th century Italy.   After showing us how it is done, David and Brandon then offered lessons in how to lop off heads and skewer evil-doers.  Most of those in the class happily gave it a try, but I played the “senior citizen with a bad back card” and watched just as happily from the sidelines.   You’ll understand if I am able to include a photo from that session; you’ll notice that the broadsword I am holding is almost as tall as I am!

I stayed over in Denver after the convention ended in order to visit with a Colorado friend, Enda Junkins, who’d accompanied Paula Mildenhall and me on our memorable trip to Israel last year.   We had a very enjoyable dinner with Mary Tod and Margaret George and the next day Enda enabled me to cross Pike’s Peak off my Bucket List by driving me up to the top of that summit.   Well, it actually was not on my Bucket List, but it should have been, for the views were spectacular.   Only one slight problem—I found I couldn’t breathe very well at 14, 0000 feet!   Apart from a train trip through the Alps many years ago, I’d never been at such a height, for the highest peak in my beloved Snowdonia is less than 4,000 feet.    But the journey was well worth being out of breath and I highly recommend it for those of you visiting Colorado in the future.

The trip would have been perfect if only I’d been able to ask Scotty to beam me up or had my own private jet or a dragon to ride like Danni in Game of Thrones.   I was stuck flying United, though, with all the attendant joys that flying offers us these days.   Delays, bad weather, an almost-diversion to Colorado Springs, more delays, a cancelled flight, and during the actual time trapped in the flying tuna cans, all the comforts enjoyed by Roman galley slaves chained to their oars.  I know, travel is still easier for us than it was for people for most of history, but that is not always much consolation at 35,000 feet when we find ourselves forced to get very up close and personal with our seatmates because airlines keep shrinking the seats in order to squeeze even more into every row.

Okay, end of rant; it did help.   I will be waiting to hear from you, Anna and Chris.   And I promise to hold another drawing for the hardcover edition of Sunne before the end of the year.  Meanwhile, please wish me luck with the upcoming battle.

August 8, 2015

The Scribe's Daughter

Regular visitors to my Facebook pages may already know that my friend Stephanie has written her first novel, for it has been mentioned occasionally, just as we keep after Ken to finish his novel about Othon de Grandson. I am happy to report that Stephanie’s book, The Scribe’s Daughter, is now available for sale. Here is the link to her website, which is a fun place to visit in and of itself. http://www.stephaniechurchillauthor.com/

I know Diana Gabaldon has many fans here, me amongst them. She blazed a path of her own with her Outlander series, blending time-travel with serious historical fiction to great effect. Stephanie’s novel has no elements of time-travel, has nothing to do with the complex politics of 18th century Scotland, and contains none of Diana’s celebrated sex scenes. But her book is like Diana’s in that it is well written and a challenge to categorize. Because The Scribe’s Daughter takes place in an alien world, some readers might see it as fantasy. No dragons, though, no elements of the supernatural, no vampires. Kassia’s homeland will seem familiar to my readers, for her daily life is not all that different from a medieval scribe’s daughter. Stephanie’s characters ride horses, defend themselves with swords, rely upon candles and firelight to hold off the dark. I have always found it very interesting that so many fantasy writers look to the Middle Ages for inspiration; even George RR Martin’s Ice and Fire series is rooted in a gritty, medieval reality—well, aside from the White Walkers and Danni’s dragons. It makes perfect sense to me, though, for what could be more fun to write about?

To check out The Scribe’s Daughter for yourselves, visit Stephanie’s website, where she has generously provided an excerpt from the first chapter.

Goodreads Historical Fictiton Week

Goodreads is one of my favorite websites, and obviously you all agree, so you might already know this. But in case you have not heard, Goodreads is celebrating historical fiction this week, offering the opportunity to ask questions directly of various writers. I was honored to be included, though you all can ask me questions anytime, of course. But here is your chance to query Diana Gabaldon, Michelle Moran, Philippa Gregory, Alice Hoffman, just to name only a few of the participating authors. Here is the link. Have fun!
https://www.goodreads.com/featured_li...

A bloody August day

I am going with a rerun post today, for several reasons. I could say that I have Facebook readers who’ve friended me since I posted this and therefore have not read it, which is true. I could also say that recycling is always good, which it is, and this saves me some typing, also true. But truest of all is that I am worn out trying to stave off that blasted deadline dragon, who has become insufferably cocky, so sure is he of victory. Normally I love dragons, but mine has long since worn out his welcome. If only I could be Queen of the World for a day, I’d immediately issue a decree that writers will never be subject to deadlines ever again.
Well, enough whining. Here is that earlier post about a bloody August day 850 years ago.
August 4, 1265 was the date of a history-changing battle, one in which Simon de Montfort was defeated and killed by his godson, the future Edward I, after he’d been trapped at Evesham by Edward’s army. Simon was expecting reinforcements from his son, also called Simon, and Bran in my novel to save me from ever having to write “Simon said to Simon” When he first saw the approaching force, Simon assumed it was Bran, for they flew his banner. But he did not know that Edward had ambushed and scattered Bran’s army as they encamped outside Kenilworth Castle, foolishly bathing in the lake and dallying with the inevitable camp prostitutes. When a scout gave Simon the devastating news, he and several of his men climbed up into the abbey’s belfry tower. Below is a brief scene from Falls the Shadow, pages 514-515
* * *
The wind was rising. It tore leaves from shuddering trees, flattened the marsh grass, and hurled dark clouds toward the fleeing sun. By the time Simon reached the north window in the church tower, the storm was nigh. He could see it sweeping across the vale, bearing down upon them from the north, shadowing the army of the king’s son. Edward had taken up position on the crest of Green Hill, closing off the loop of the River Avon with a line of steel. A mile lay between their thousands and Evesham, no more. Simon needed but one glance to know that he and his men were doomed.
He sucked in his breath, jolted by a surge of purely physical fear, the body’s instinctive reaction to peril. But he’d faced death too often, had long ago learned how to make fear serve him; self-preservation was a powerful motivating force in and of itself. The fright bred into bone and muscle was a familiar foe, one he knew he could vanquish. But what followed it was far more terrifying, a fear born of the brain, one that offered him a haunting glimpse of the future, a lightning-lit landscape of desolation and lost faith. Was their dream to die with them, too? Had it all been for naught?
No. No, it could not be. They would not be abandoned in their time of need, for their cause was just and would prevail. He would not fail his trial of faith, would not disavow a single yesterday. Death came to all men, but defeat only to those who doubted. Fear not, I am thy shield, trust in me and be not afraid. He unclenched his fist, eased his desperate grip upon the shutter latch, and then turned to face those who’d followed him up into the tower, followed wherever he led, his sons, his friends.
“We must commend our souls to God,” he said, “for our bodies are theirs.”
* * *
So many years after his death, Simon de Montfort remains a controversial figure. But even those who dislike him have to admit that his was one of history’s better exit lines.

Do-over for Sunne book drawing

I am still running a bit behind. So for yesterday’s date, on August 2, 1100, William Rufus was slain while hunting in the New Forest. Historians are inclined to accept it as an accident; it was however, an extremely convenient death, I note in passing. And on this date in 1274, Edward I returned from Crusade to assume the reins of government, having fully recovered from his wounds when he fought off an Assassin with a poisoned dagger. Imagine how different British history would have been had he succumbed to his injuries; feel free to insert wistful sigh here.

During the years of the Roman Republic, a senator known as Cato the Elder ended every speech he made with the words “Carthage must be destroyed.” I am beginning to feel as if I am following in his footsteps, given how often I’ve been appealing to Laurie Spencer, the winner of the hardcover edition of Sunne in my blog giveaway, to contact me. But she is either on an extended holiday or she has gone over to the dark side and declared for the Tudor usurper. I do not think I can wait any longer, so I am going to do another drawing this week, with all those who participated in the first drawing eligible again to win the hardcover copy of Sunne. Laurie, if I do not hear from you before that drawing, I will offer you a signed paperback copy as a consolation prize.

Mirebeau

Yesterday, August 1st, 1202 was the occasion for King John’s one great military triumph. He’d gotten word from Eleanor that she was under siege at Mirebeau Castle by John’s rival, her own grandson Arthur, the young Duke of Brittany, with his de Lusignan allies. John’s father, Henry, and brother Richard had been famed for the speed of their campaigns, but even they would have been impressed by what John accomplished. He got word on Tuesday night, July 30th, and he and his men set out at once. It was eighty miles from Le Mans to Mirebeau, but he managed to reach the besieged castle at dawn on August 1st, catching his enemies utterly by surprise and capturing them all, including Arthur and the de Lusignans.
Here be Dragons, page 159-160
* * *
“And Arthur? What of Arthur, John?”
John’s eyes showed suddenly gold. “Arthur and Hugh and Geoffrey de Lusignan, all taken. They were breakfasting on pigeon pie, had not even time to draw their swords. And their faces….” He laughed again. “Ah, Madame, to see their faces!”
“You have indeed won a great victory,” Eleanor said, then put her hand upon his arm. “Come now, sit and I’ll send for food. Do you even remember when you’ve last eaten?”
“No,” he admitted. “Why? Think you that I’m in need of sobering up?” He grinned, letting her lead him toward the table, and then sopped without warning, swung about to face her. “Arthur and the de Lusignans were not alone in their disbelief….were they?” he challenged. “You never expected me to come to your defense, never expected me to reach you in time, never expected much of me at all, did you….Mother?”
Eleanor now saw how exhausted he truly was; his voice was slurred, husky with fatigue, his eyes hollowed and feverishly bright, at once triumphant and accusing. “It was not a question of faith, John,” she said carefully. “Do you not realize the extent of your victory? You have done what most men would swear to be impossible, covered some eighty miles as if you’d put wings to your horse, arrived in time to save me from capture, to take the town, all your enemies. That is a feat more than remarkable, it is well-nigh miraculous.” She paused and then said that which she knew he’d waited all his life to hear, what she could at last say in utter sincerity. “Not even Richard could have hoped to equal what you did this day.”
John looked at her, saying nothing for a time. “I should have known that the highest praise you could offer would be a comparison with my sainted brother. Well, that is an honor I think I’ll decline, Madame. I’ve no longer any inclination to compete with a ghost.”
“Ah, Johnny….” Eleanor was suddenly and overwhelmingly aware of her own exhaustion, of the toll these last days had taken. “I am proud of you, I swear it,” she said softly. But she’d waited too long. John had already turned away.
* * *
Sadly, John would soon tarnish the brightness of that victory by his subsequent actions. He treated the captured Breton lords so badly that it created a scandal; a number died in captivity, one of whom was his brother Richard’s closest friend, their cousin Andre de Chauvigny. Arthur’s sister, Eleanor, had fallen into his hands, too, and she would remain a royal prisoner for forty years. John has been criticized by this, but his son Henry deserves just as much censure, if not more, for he never felt threatened by Eleanor, not sharing John’s paranoia. Arthur, of course, survived less than a year, disappearing into one of John’s dungeons never to be seen again. It was widely believed by John’s contemporaries and later by historians, that Arthur was murdered in April of 2003 on John’s orders. I believe it, too.

Imaginative Westeros map

Here is an imaginative creation of Westeros if it were part of Europe. I know, some of us have too much time on our hands, but it is a long way till next season where we either learn that Jon Snow is not dead or fans worldwide start to drink heavily. Jon is a sympathetic character and hey, there are not that many of them on Game of Thrones, but it is not that most of his fans would find his death so devastating. It is that many of us think that if he dies now, it invalidates the entire story line, or the story line that many of us expected to play out. Anyway, here is the new map of Westeros, equating each of the kingdoms to European countries. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/06...

Extradition for Cecil the lion's killer

There is good news on the Cecil the lion front. The government of Zimbabwe is requesting Palmer’s extradition to face charges. I suspect the worldwide outcry has a lot to do with their decision, but I welcome it anyway. The professional guide, who has already been charged, is now talking. He claims they were both upset when they found Cecil’s collar, which indicated he was protected, that they panicked and hid the collar. But he says that Palmer then asked if they could shoot an elephant the next day. Just for the record, the wild elephant population has fallen by 64% in just the last decade; these highly intelligent, highly social animals are at even greater risk of extinction than the lions. The more we learn about elephants, the more we realize what remarkable creatures they are, with a sophisticated social system and the capacity for empathy and humor and self-awareness. I’d be surprised if, in his unending “trophy” hunts, Palmer does not already have the blood of at least one elephant on his hands. Here is the link to the extradition story; the guide’s interview with the BBC is also easily available on-line. I would like to thank all of my readers who signed the petition. I think it helped. http://www.cnn.com/2015/07/31/world/z...